One Day
by Lollirotxox
Summary: The plan was to go to the dugouts, kill the bottle and screw all night. The first two steps they'd successfully managed without detours, however Gallagher had forgotten to mention how apparently this particular brand of cheap vodka turned him into a retard until they'd already gone shot for shot, downing seven in a row. And now he was smashed, and who was stuck taking care of him?


So now this is a distraction from my distraction fic. Jeez. .

I was trying to be a good girl and write chapter two of The Hunger, but then tumblr sucked me in and I totally blame this on stitchandrepair for something I saw on hers and immediately began laughing as images bombarded my brain.

I own nothing. Rating is for a mini sexual encounter, but this is just basically fluffy silliness.

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Ian Gallagher was wasted.

Not the fun, inhibitions lowered and pumped to have a good night kind of wasted. Not the outgoing and overly (and maybe sometimes endearingly, shut up) talkative kind of wasted either.

He'd moved right past all of that, into the territory of knocking things over, stubbing his toes and giggling incessantly at fucking everything kind of completely on his ass _wasted._

Mickey exhaled noisily, thanking whoever was listening that his house was empty that night as he practically dragged Ian up his front steps.

"I'm just gonna lay down for a minute…" The redhead mumbled, his weight shifting to the side opposite Mickey.

"The fuck you are, we're right here!" Mickey said, motioning at his front door incredulously as he tightened his grip on the boy to prevent him from falling clumsily to the porch. Hauling Ian inside and bitching under his breath the whole time about how he was never _ever_ giving Ian Banker's Club vodka again, he managed to get the younger boy into his room before unceremoniously depositing Ian on his bed.

"Stay here," Mickey commanded, irritation radiating off of him as he quickly moved to the kitchen to grab some bread and pour some tap water into a cup. The cup may have been a little dirty, but it wasn't like Gallagher would even notice so whatever. Making his way back to his room he bit his lip to stifle a laugh at the sight of Ian wriggling like a worm, trying to pull his shirt over his head and failing, trapping his head between his raised arms with the shirt around his elbows.

For fucks sake, he shouldn't have to play mommy to drunken gingers. That is _not_ his idea of a good time and it definitely was not the plan for the night. The plan was to go to the dugouts, kill the bottle and screw all night. The first two steps they'd successfully managed without detours, however Gallagher had forgotten to mention how apparently this particular brand of cheap vodka turned him into a fucking retard until they'd already gone shot for shot, downing seven in a row. And now the asshole was smashed, and who was stuck taking care of the fucker?

It wasn't funny.

It was annoying.

That's what he kept repeating to himself like a mantra in an attempt to clutch onto the fading annoyance. Ian whimpered like a little child and although that should have sent his irritation level through the roof, Mickey's face softened slightly as he stepped forward to help the kid out. After pulling Ian's shirt the rest of the way off his arms, he leaned the redhead's back against the headboard and shoved a piece of bread in his face.

"Eat it. Soak some of that shit up."

"Bread doesn't sssoak up alcohol, protein doess," Ian nodded to himself, knocking the offered food and Mickey's hand away.

It was really insane or just plain stupid that Mickey found the way Ian lisped on his s' sometimes while drunk irritably cute. "Okay smart ass, well this is what we've got and this is what you'll eat."

After a few failed attempts at getting Ian to feed himself, the shithead refusing like a petulant little girl, Mickey stared at the ceiling trying to keep a firm grasp on his calm. Taking a few deep, steadying breaths and pushing the thoughts of how gay what he was about to do to the back of his mind Mickey started shoving pieces of bread into Gallagher's mouth. Ian chewed obediently, staring at Mickey all the while.

"You have pretty eyelashesss."

"Christ, you fucking girl, drink a little more why don't you," Mickey griped as he pushed more bread into Ian's mouth. Ian coughed, seeming like he was choking and Mickey reached out to grab his chin to force him to look at him and breathe when Ian opened his mouth and not only spit pieces of the chewed up bread into his palm, but used his tongue to lazily shove out anything he'd missed expelling the first shot.

Mickey's mouth dropped open in utter incredulity.

And there went the last of his patience.

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Seriously? Are you a god damn toddler?!" The older boy snapped, furiously rising to his feet and throwing the remaining bread on the floor. He was nowhere near drunk enough for this, and his blue eyes burned into Ian. "I should've just left you to freeze in the dugout, at least then I wouldn't have to deal with this shit!"

The whine that left Ian's throat could only be described pathetic as wide, shiny green eyes stared up at him and Mickey found himself rolling his eyes for the millionth time that night at the sound. He really didn't need this. Not one fucking bit. He hadn't even gotten laid tonight. But, if Gallagher died of alcohol poisoning or some shit then he wouldn't be getting laid _ever_ so he figured being a little bit of a girl right now and taking care of him was acceptable. Before he could do anything, Ian was scrambling to the edge of the bed and there were hands on his belt. Long fingers inelegantly undid the buckle before moving on to the button and zipper, causing Mickey's jeans to pool around his ankles.

"Firecrotch-"

"Shuddup," Ian ordered in one big whoosh, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Mickey's boxers and tugging them down too.

Shit. Did it make him a bad person if he just let Ian go at it? Should he stop him? Was this like, taking advantage of his drunken state?

When the warmth of Ian's fingers encased his quickly growing member and his thoughts started going into melt down mode, Mickey figured it didn't make him a bad person since Gallagher more than willingly threw himself at him literally every other point in time. And if it did well, he'd never claimed to be a good person now had he?

Tilting his head back as a breathy moan tumbled from his lips, all earlier agitation flew out the window when Ian started to steadily pump and stroke him at the same time. Fucking or blowing him would have been better, but he wasn't going to complain. Besides, Gallagher would probably get dizzy from fucking and gag from blowing, and he _really_ didn't feel like cleaning puke up on top of everything. So he kept his mouth shut, and when Ian twisted his wrist and swiped a thumb over his swollen head his hips twitched forward involuntarily, thrusting into Ian's firm pulls.

They hadn't fucked in two days or so and damn if Ian wasn't still on top of his game even heavily intoxicated, so when he felt his orgasm building up he didn't feel the need to resist it. Throwing his dark head back and hissing in pleasure, Mickey's hips stuttered forward as he spilled all over Ian's hand that milked him for all he was worth before pulling it away. Shaking his head to clear the fog his orgasm had produced, the older boy was getting ready to reach down and pull his pants up when Ian moved forward, rocking up onto his knees at the edge of the mattress so he was almost forehead to forehead with Mickey. His glassy green orbs were wide with what oddly seemed like awe, and Mickey opened his mouth to ask him just what the hell was so amazing when his breath caught in his throat as Gallagher reach to his face, smearing his cum soaked middle three fingers across Mickey's forehead.

"Simba…" Ian whispered with his face the picture of seriousness as Mickey just stared at him in shock.

Did Gallagher really just do that? Like…_**really**_? He didn't even know what to say let alone what to do. So he just stared, mouth slightly agape as he watched the ginger collapse backwards into a fit of giggles.

"The FUCK is wrong with you?!" The ex-con spat as he furiously wiped at his forehead. He wasn't queasy about cum because, _come on_, how could he be but he sure as hell wouldn't put up with this shit. If anyone else had pulled this shit they would be dead, no questions asked or fucks given. He jumped on Ian's thighs, threatening very loudly to knock his teeth out as he pinned him to the bed but the redhead just dopily grinned up at him and he felt his heart contract a bit at the emotion shining from Ian's eyes.

"Will you be my betrothed?"

"Did you watch Disney movies with your little brother again or something, dumbass?" Mickey asked bitterly, figuring that's the only logical explanation for Ian's behavior of the last few minutes. Once he'd had a six hour marathon with Liam of nonstop Disney movies and later that night after they'd gotten high Ian had laughed for twenty minutes straight when the wind blew some long tree branches and Ian had started singing like the fruitcake he was about colors of the fucking wind or something, gasping for breath between belting out the words and snickering so hard his whole body convulsed. He didn't even want to remember the time Firecrotch had thought he was being cute by using a fork to comb through Mickey's hair, because the stupidity just astounded him.

The fact that he knew all of that was Disney related made him want to find Mandy and give her the worst tittie twister of her life.

"Mayyyyybe." Ian smirked.

Seating himself comfortably on Ian's hips, Mickey glared down at the still giggling boy. "You're so beyond dumb, Gallagher."

"That may be true, but…" Ian seemed to lose his train of thought before stubbornly regaining it and that shit eating grin split his face,a teasing light joining the affection shining in his eyes. "One day, us two are going to be-"

Knowing what was coming, Mickey cut him off abruptly by smashing his lips onto Ian's for a split second before pulling back to loom over him with a half serious threat in his tone, "Don't even think about finishing that fucking sentence Firecrotch, or I'll throw you out my window."

Blinking, Ian seemed completely unbothered by his words and kept smiling brightly, just tugged Mickey down to rest beside him before contentedly leaning his forehead onto the older boys shoulder and promptly passing out.

Mickey rolled his eyes and swore that if the dickhead ever tried to bitch and moan that he never showed him he cared _ever_ again, he was going to punch him right in his infuriatingly cute fucking face.

* * *

I don't even know. This just kinda came out, and I've been up all night so sorry if there's any mistakes or errors I'm too impatient to get it beta'd. R&R please, feedback is like breath to starving lungs! =]


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